Scribe of Thoth

Onryo Hunters - A ghost-battling magical girl/boy RP

I’m like tentatively interested provided I can think up a character concept

The Shattering of Aegis

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The name for what he evidently was meant nothing to him, but Ceolfric appreciated it all the same. It was much less of a mouthful than the grandiose speech he usually gave when asked - and presumably far less incriminating under the laws of this land. Not that it would apparently matter to the Bounty House, if they kept with the oh-so-enlightened Verazian sensibilities of their secretary. Ceolfric was ready to tune out the rest of the conversation when his attention was drawn toward the stairs by a sudden clapping. Some overconfident runt of a woman insulted her way across the room, only catching Ceolfric's eyes for long enough to size her up before he turned his gaze back to Aleka in disinterest. He couldn't say he disagreed with her dismissal of Cerric's flamboyancy, but the men of civilized lands must be soft indeed if a woman like that could get away with speaking so boldly in what Ceolfric could only assume was a regular occurance, judging by the elf's reaction.

Cerric's warning went in one ear and out the other; Freckles and Lilann seemed to have crossed her just by existing, and he'd looked upon far mightier warriors than a child-sized telekinetic without fear. If she intended to strangle him with his own clothes, he had no qualms about bludgeoning her to death in the nude, quite frankly. The elf's second statement was far more interesting. Lord Mystralath was the proprietor of the House, as far as Ceolfric was aware, which meant he was only man whose opinion mattered. A whole batch of Aetherborn at once would likely draw his eye, and none of the others had experience that sounded particularly useful to the profession. They'd serve to make the bandit look better, if nothing else.

Not the worst introduction he could hope for, all things considered. He only had to hope his lordship's temperament was more agreeable than the Lady Silventria. Or, gods forbid, she spoke the way she did because he was in a dalliance with the little gremlin.

But that was a matter for later, and the teenager daudling around Aleka's desk didn't interest him in the slightest. The two Tainted, however, did. For a couple of supposed demonspawn, they were a far cry from their progenitors - far too little malice in their tone when they discussed Aeowyn. The fearsome Ceolfric Demonkin felt no kinship with them at all; he'd parted someone's tongue from their mouth for lesser insults. Granted, the stakes in a spat between two Aetherborn were a bit higher than one between mere men. At least Lilann had a pair of metaphorical testicles, which he'd have assumed she took from Kyreth were he not far too tall to have been a eunuch. Nevertheless, Ceolfric hovered closer to where they were seated and loomed over them with a hand resting casually on his hip, pinky barely brushing Goredrinker's crossguard.

"She seems a bit too self-important to waste her time on an entertainer of drunkards and a fence-mender anyway, Aetherborn or not." He glanced to Kyreth pointedly upon his mention of Aetherborn, trying to gauge whether he was truly ignorant or just a bad liar. "I think you're in the clear, if you're not feeling particularly retributive."

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@Mcmolly@Obscene Symphony

The Shattering of Aegis

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So he was correct in his assumptions. The mystery creature was no run of the mill beast, but a demon unbound and vengeful. Though that begged the question of why an entity born from an orcish warlord's death-curse did nothing but posture to sleeping travelers. Ceolfric had been party to the summoning of mere imps with more capacity for violence, and with the summoner dead, he could think of nothing that might keep the Rancor from indulging in its desires. Cerric seemed strangely blasé about the whole ordeal, though Ceolfric couldn't tell if that was due to his confidence in this Katya person or lack of belief in the folk tales.

Ceolfric hesitantly reached out to accept the sculpture after it was offered, not keen on touching the product of another's magic even if it was born from mindless theatrics. The simulacrum likely held little resemblance to the actual creature anyway, and was thus a useless trinket that the elf should've dispelled after he made his point. His eyes drifted from the sculpture to the runes etched on the floor again. A tempting topic to inquire about as well, though the others' concerns seemed to trump his in order of importance, based on Aleka's comments. At least, most of them; the elven girl's terror apparently stemmed from nothing more than the rocks she saw in the water, for gods' sake.

"I assume these classifications are a shorthand way of explaining capabilities," Ceolfric surmised from Aleka's assignment of Lilann as a Genesian, whatever that was. If that was the same as the mountain-mover back in Dranir, he might need to watch himself around her. "Either way, I take it someone here could explain the system to us, if it's so pertinent to the job." He noted Freckles - Kyreth, apparently - refused to offer even a description of his abilities. Forgetfulness perhaps, but with all the talk of aetherborn, it was more likely deliberate. The glowing specks on his face didn't lie, so he clearly must've been hiding something, though he didn't carry himself with the confidence powerful men did.

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Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

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Auberon had hoped to find a line of men awaiting them as he rode into Magdred, that they might clash steel against steel until the victor stood as a living monument to judgment passed from on high. Instead, the scene grew more unsettling by the moment. He supposed it was a bit of a blessing that the streets were empty, eerie as it was, as it meant there would be no civilians caught in the carnage accidentally. That assumed they were barricaded in their homes in the face of potential invaders, of course. The alternative was that they'd already been rounded up for slaughter and that the heretics already cowered behind the aegis of a few hostages.

Yet no messenger strode forth to present any demands, nor did an executioner brandish an innocent townswoman to threaten them into obedience. It was too silent for the heretics to have been caught off guard, yet they offered no resistance so far. And they called themselves men of faith. Pathetic.

As Michail dismounted, Auberon scrambled to follow him, not wanting to give their opponents any window to exploit the brief disarray before they had formed up properly. When no ambush was sprung, the blond tightened his grip on his axe and advanced in step with the others. The Dominic girl and Derec could probably hold the flanks well enough, and a brief glance backward showed Jorah was already on high alert, doubtlessly ready to pounce as soon as the heretics betrayed even a hint of their presence. It meant Auberon had room to be a little reckless.

"I'll try and draw them out. Let's see what's stronger; their conviction or their fear," Auberon grumbled as he lowered the visor on his helm. If the heretics had even a hint of virtue, misguided though it may be, he'd fall under attack sooner rather than later. After all, Michail did say their purpose was to make noise, and he'd rather them spring their trap prematurely than wait until the group had parked themselves in the middle of town square to be skewered from every angle. The blond broke formation and paced away from the group, hoping to make himself a more tempting target.

"Your cowardice reveals your folly more aptly than any discourse ever could," He called out goadingly into the empty streets, "If you heretics are so assured of the righteousness of your cause, why do you forsake your honor and hide? Do you not even trust your blasphemous deity to deliver you unto victory?!" Auberon spread his arms wide in a challenge to any of the misguided souls that might've been watching them, daring his hidden opposition to stand in the Goddess' view alongside him and glorify their beliefs in combat.

"Come, test the bladed edge of your false faith against the armor forged of Her favor! Prove the worthiness of your cause here and now!" He braced his axe before himself as he concluded his speech and darted his head between the nearby buildings. There was nothing to fear from any sinner that would answer his challenge, exalted by the Goddess as he was, but if they did nothing but loose arrows in their cowardice, he'd need to be ready.

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@Obscene Symphony@Salsa Verde

The Shattering of Aegis

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Ceolfric narrowed his eyes at Aleka as the man gave his explanation. It wasn't quite moralizing, nor was it outright derogatory, but there were haughty undertones there that he wasn't fond of. Or maybe he'd read too far into it; the words themselves were sensible, but the flat affect of the half-elf made any subtext impossible to read. There was a very strong possibility that there simply weren't any unspoken implications at all and Aleka was just weird.

The blue-skinned elf was far more welcoming, in the way Ceolfric assumed a spider might be welcoming to a fly. He was clearly getting some kind of weird kick out of all the new arrivals, though the resumption of his introduction after Aleka had cut him off gave Ceolfric at least a bit of an idea why. Merchants always had a weird forced friendliness about them; it was how they manipulated their customers. For some reason, some of them thought the same thing worked with people who had a blade to their neck. Still, if he was the resident treasurer, Cerric likely had a vested interest in keeping competent people around to line his own pockets. Not exactly a malicious motive, even if it was self-serving. Besides, whatever a 'primordial aetherborn' was probably didn't need to resort to trickery and deceit to incite a man's downfall.

Ceolfric stepped away from the desk upon being dismissed, thankful that Aleka hadn't pressed for more inane details that he had no capacity to provide, and turned his attention back to the motley crew that had followed him inside. None of them had gotten uppity upon overhearing what he was - and he didn't think them nearly virtuous enough to not have eavesdropped - but they were all whispering to each other like conspiratorial children, and the elven woman looked spooked by... something. Maybe him, maybe the locale. Maybe he should find out.

"If you have something to say, say it," He grumbled toward Eila, "Mister Liadon, in his boundless hospitality, did offer to assuage your worries, after all." There were a few questions of his own he wanted answered, quite frankly. The bandit lazily shifted his gaze between the elves, now resting loosely on Cerric. "I, for one, would like to know if the Bounty House was aware of the creature that roams the forest and leaves giant claw marks beside camping travelers."

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@Hero

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

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A diminutive figure swaddled in stark imperial black inched its way down from the carriage, having been forced out simply by virtue of sitting closest to the door. His heart pounded, every beat circulating Saint Noa's blood faster and faster as it resonated its bearer's apprehension with the long-dead geas of its progenitor. By all means, Rudolf should've been itching to climb back in the carriage and hunker down until the fighting had passed, but he didn't. He simply stood at attention, adjusted the sword at his hip that presented more of an illusion of safety than actual combat advantage, and tugged his cowl down to hide the dread on his face while the reality of his surroundings sunk in.

His tutor had once told him that a dark mage should never be frightened, even in the gloomiest forest, for he should be absolutely sure that the most fearsome thing lurking in the shadows was himself. Rudolf had dismissed it as the self-assured bravado of a man far more capable than he, but as he stood in Magdred, for the first time, he almost believed. In this fog, he was less a man and more an ephemerality - a hooded wraith straddling the boundary between existence and fairy tale. He was barely real to the world around him on the best of conditions; here, where everyone else was a mere silhouette in the mist, he was lucky to even be a fleeting shadow in the corner of a paranoid man's eye. The only danger he'd find himself in here was that which he willingly subjected himself to.

It was as comforting as it was horrifying. He could leave them all to die and no one could stop him.

"We're walking into a trap," Rudolf assessed without invitation, "No local to the area would be unaware of Magdred Way's tendency to hold fog, and the advance unit's passage would've tipped off even the most incompetent sentry anyway. There's no way we got lucky and snuck in due to the weather." The words came out flatly, with the same analytical cadence his father might've taken when discussing tactics with his officers. It horrified him. Rudolf hadn't willed the words to come out, they just spilled along with memories of mocked up invasion plans for the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus that had been drawn up and shown to him partially as a theoretical exercise and partially as preparation for any future conflict. It was a shock that he even remembered any of it, as he certainly never intended to use any of it.

"Since they didn't bother to use the fog to ambush us, they're probably hunkered down in the most defensible position they can find, or they intended to flank us once we're boxed in the heart of town." Reinforcements obviously wouldn't come from Arianrhod like in the lesson, but the theory held. They'd just arrive sooner. "There's also the question of which villagers have aligned themselves with the dissidents and how we're to tell them apart." Militias levied against an invading Imperial army would work much the same way as an angry mob of heretics, Rudolf surmised. The lack of any signs of conflict certainly implied that at least some of the town was complying with their occupiers, or they'd never have been taken hostage to begin with.

"Professor, the plea for help itself could've been a trap. Is this really the kind of thing you send students to do?" Rudolf whined in a last ditch effort to extricate himself - or more importantly, his classmates - from the mission. He could slip off without a word, but then he'd have to hear them dying in the distance as he hitchhiked his way to County Bergliez and probably every night after that in his dreams.

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Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

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Von Varley. As much as Auberon would've liked to believe that their resemblance was a coincidence following that revelation, he was all but certain it wasn't. He wasn't aware that his wayward cousin who had shamefully eloped with a Varley boy had a child, though it shouldn't have been a surprise. What was he to do, then? Call this Albrecht's mother a - well, Auberon would never repeat the words he'd heard her called, so that was probably out. Should he do anything? Whatever indecency his parents may have committed against House Galatea had no bearing on their son. Sins of the father and whatnot. Besides, House Varley was allegedly composed of pious men, by Imperial standards at least, whatever that counted for.

It seemed the time Auberon had spent staring liberated him from the need to decide on a course of action, as his choice was fortuitiously delayed by Professor Bartels' interjection. Another combat exercise was liable to be the last thing the class wanted after what happened at Luin, especially one with more innocents in the crossfire. It should've been the last thing he wanted. They should be running war games amongst themselves, not marching off to war on the Church's behalf. And yet every fiber of Auberon's being was wound tight with anticipation, fingers trembling as they itched to curl around the haft of an axe and cleave these heretics in twain until they abandoned their reprehensible crusade against the defenseless. Unlike those who resort to banditry in hard times, there were no words to be had with them; the Goddess may send rain down upon the just and unjust alike, but She sent Auberon Galatea against only the latter.

"I volunteer for the advance unit," Auberon announced with all the righteous fervor that was no doubt to be expected of him. Albrecht was all but forgotten under the grim determination that filled him. This would not be another Luin. Never another Luin. He wasn't decisive enough last time. His lack of resolve saw Derec concussed and Kellen nearly eviscerated when he should've unleashed all his fury on that Saints-damned chieftain the moment he entered Auberon's sight. Armored in faith as he was, he had no reason to merely react to the moves of his enemy when he would serve as a far better bulwark for the weak by excising the heart of the threat immediately.

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Rudolf watched Lienna's all-too-familiar startled reaction with impassive weariness, though it faded as quickly as it came when she promptly settled down without a tedious comment about his sudden appearance. He was thankful for that, even if her answer gave him nothing that he couldn't surmise on his own. The professor's much more informative answer came as if on cue, though Rudolf sorely wished it hadn't.

He didn't know which side looked worse here, the Church marching a bunch of teenagers out to fight their ideological battles for them, or the dissidents that thought holding villages hostage would win converts or even paint the Church in a poor light. Then again, if their tactics were as ill-considered as their motives, a group of teenagers was probably more than a match for these apostates. The only problem was that said group of teenagers included him, which meant he'd be given responsibility, which meant he'd fail at those responsibilities, and then compromise his position, and then let his weakness be exploited by the enemy, and then they'd all get flanked and die. It was just as his father had always said, a formation falls apart the moment a gap is made, and Rudolf was ever the flimsy shield in the phalanx, the flank that routs prematurely, the inept soldier that everyone overestimates. At least they were asking for volunteers instead of forcing him into an assignment.

Though truly it was only a matter of picking his poison. If he let the advance unit down, then he'd just doom the reserve unit to fall under the full might of the opposition. If he let the reserve unit down, they'd still all be brutally slaughtered along with the villagers, but at least there was a chance the advance unit would handle the dissidents without giving them a chance to engage the back line, or regroup and flank the enemy even once they did.

Lienna and he appeared to be of one mind on the matter, judging by her comment, though she seemed rather blasé about the whole ordeal. Goddess above, was one flirt with death at that stupid little hamlet really enough to desensitize them all to this? Or were the heroes of the hour just that confident in their abilities that they saw no danger in this exercise? They shouldn't be; Rudolf von Bergliez was watching their backs, and they'd take comfort in that like the oblivious fools they were.

"Wherever I'll let less people down, I guess," Rudolf muttered under his breath, "You're all the miracle workers, not me." He really hadn't intended for the professor to hear him - in fact, he sincerely hoped she didn't, but maybe someone out there would hear his plea and deign to answer it. If the Goddess didn't listen in Garreg Mach, She didn't listen at all.

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The Shattering of Aegis

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Ceolfric stared blankly at Aleka as the man rattled off his tedious list. He didn't even know what half of that meant himself, much less why it was relevant to mercenary work. Why would he have a sir name? He clearly wasn't a knight. His occupation wasn't exactly something he cared to brag about, he had no real idea of where he was born, no living kin, nor any idea what Aleka had meant by his comment about Ceolfric's tongue. It was an oddity, to be sure, but Ceolfric had no idea who gave it to him. Rakas? Umbraxakar? Was he expected to just guess?

"Classi-what?" Ceolfric repeated, mostly to himself. Judging by the newfound lack of background noise, he had the pianist's full attention now, which could easily prove troublesome if they found the details of his life disagreeable. Then again, if he lied about being some unremarkable farmhand, he'd appear soft to his new employers at best and blatantly dishonest at worst. It would be easier to pass himself off as a poor sinner looking to better himself than be caught in a lie later on down the road when people began to question why Farmer Joe's scarred up nephew had an intimate familiarity with irregular warfare and disrupting caravan routes.

"I was a brigand up in Dranir. That alone should answer most of your questions. My family is dead, I'm good with a sword, and I have no qualms or misconceptions about violence," Ceolfric admitted flatly. He kept his eyes on Aleka, hardened and determined, refusing to acknowledge the gaze of the blue-skinned Aetherborn boring holes in the back of his head. "And the only thing I know about my tongue is that, if I so will it, people do what I order, when I order it. If that's unsatisfactory, I'm afraid that's as informative as I can be without embellishing the tale a little." As loath as he was to reveal his trump card without assurance that the pianist wouldn't unravel the floor underneath his feet, it would serve him little if the elf was anything like the geomancer. Aleka might make a decent hostage, but Ceolfric could clearly overpower him through force of arms alone, without resorting to arcane means.

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The Shattering of Aegis

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Ceolfric was used to a number of different reactions whenever he burst into a building unannounced - brave fools rushing him with the nearest sharp object, wide-eyed glances from those frozen in fear, dagger-like glares from the resident 'tough customers', the shrill whining of some idiotic farmwife who thinks, for some reason, that the best way to keep her head attached to her shoulders is to stand between the interloping marauders and her valuables - but a monotone greeting from a stately elf as he threw open the doors to the Bounty House was definitely new to him. Nor did the gentleman's bored confidence come from a place of power; he looked barely a match for the pianist, let alone whatever stronger entity was residing further within.

It was so utterly unexpected that the bandit found himself baffled into silence. He'd expected to demand answers from a wary secretary, not... be offered paperwork. Though he supposed an office that trafficked in mercenaries would be used to such antics; the Bounty House couldn't be all snooty knights-errant and glory-seeking noblemen. Besides, it wouldn't do to make a scene quite yet - the House had an undeniable air of danger beneath the veneer of civility. The pianist was likely placed strategically to eliminate any incoming threats, with Jenson being a simple red herring to give intruders false confidence. The arcane symbolism etched into the floor by the stairs was either a summoning circle for a being so integral to the inhabitants that it was made a permanent facet of the architecture, or the locus of some kind of large-scale protective magic, neither of which boded well for anyone that caused trouble. And that was to say nothing of the entities further within - his mystery demon had split into thirds upon closer inspection, and Ceolfric wasn't sure if that was preferable or worse.

He looked dumbly toward Aleka and acquiesced, approaching the desk. Impatient as he was, he had still come to play at the politics of the civilized world, not play witchhunter to every ominous building in the woods; answers could wait.

"Erm. Yes. I'm Ceolfric." He wasn't sure if tacking a colorful list of monikers to his name would make him a more appealing hire or just land him in the local jail, so he omitted such titles as 'Bandit Prince of Dranir', 'Favored of Umbraxakar', 'Kin to Demons', et cetera. His gaze turned to the hefty tome Aleka had produced with a confused furrow in his brow and wary curiosity in his eyes. Exactly how much of that was he expected to fill? Maybe he should've let the siblings go first and follow their lead. "What information exactly do you need?"

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Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

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Auberon stared quizzically at the door as Derec closed it, still unsure as to what his half-slumbering companion meant by that nod. Was it an acknowledgment? An agreement to his offer? Derec nodding off and catching himself midway? His Lions could get mad at him for his wake up knocks all they wanted, but they were clearly warranted if this was how they intended to stumble into the classroom. At least no one had slept through a class yet, or else he might have to start barging in when his knocks were left unanswered. Or find a female volunteer to barge in, in Lienna's case.

Upon Derec's return, Auberon still found himself without an answer as to what that nod meant.

"Why would I have offered if I didn't intend to stay?" Was he not a man of his word? Would a man of dubious character have even bothered to make such a stupid lie anyway? It was certainly an early morning, but that was hardly an excuse to be outright delirious. Unless Derec was pursuing a secret training regimen at night - and Auberon certainly hoped not, what with a kidnapper on the loose (and because he hadn't received even a single invitation to spar) - the redhead really had no excuse to be this tired. Maybe he needed to hydrate better.

"Not a morning person, I take it?" He asked rhetorically as he started toward the exit. That trait seemed like it should've been a rarity among the common folk, didn't they have farms to manage or something?

When they arrived at the Blue Lions' classroom, Auberon was met with a handful of unfamiliar faces, and what seemed to be a geography lesson taking shape on the board, judging by Professor Bartels' presence. One of the newcomers he recognized - vaguely, but enough to know she was Faerghian. The orange-haired boy's identity was lost on him, but Clarissa's conversation partner appeared almost too recognizable. Why, he could've been Count Galatea's son had Auberon not known any better. He definitely wasn't a cousin the blond had ever been introduced to, and surely a bastard would've been at least gossiped about. Maybe a distantly-related Fraldarius that got all of the Galatea and none of the Kellen in the looks department.

Whatever curiosity Auberon harbored over the lesson evaporated in the face of the familiar stranger, so much that he forgot to thank the Goddess for Her minor miracle of getting Lienna to class even before he had arrived. Then again, Derec had taken a while.

"Good morning," Auberon greeted with a respectful dip of his head as he approached the group, "Clarissa, I hope you'll introduce me to what look to be our classmates for this... exercise." His gaze trailed briefly over the trio, lingering on them in order of importance. He gave the fiery-haired male only enough of his attention to adequately size him up, offered a polite smile to his Housemate, and then set to work staring holes into his would-be relative's head as blatantly as he could get away with in polite company.

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@Hero